"Mobile-Home Fantasy"- New Poem: Wk 4; M, 9/2

Raking leaves,
I see the same grizzly man
staring at overgrown trees:
green, covering the view
of millions of mobile homes.
I wonder what he sees:
winding, cracked roads.
Windshield wiper stained
windows attached to
long, grey snakes on every
corner.
Garbage overflowing cans
marked with a city's sigil.
Fast-food wrappers taking flight;
landing on brown grass.

I wonder what he doesn't see:
Dirty laundry over pouring,
leaking against the aisles.
Wet dishes screaming
at yellow, soaked hands.
Carpet cleaner absorbing
last night's stains.
Paradise pinned against
the walls.
Fantasy paintings of
hot, sandy beaches
with seashells traveling
clear waves.